


Traffic Lights and Moonlit Nights

by bornforwar_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-05 06:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10299305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist
Summary: by Kathryn AdkinsBuffy Summers is a traffic reporter who is hired by Watchers' Council Media... Spike is the Program Director who thinks she was hired to make his life a living Hell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).
> 
> \--
> 
> Rating: R for sexual reference, language 
> 
> Spoilers: None. This is strictly AU. 
> 
> Summary: Buffy Summers is a traffic reporter who is hired by Watchers' Council Media... Spike is the Program Director who thinks she was hired to make his life a living Hell. 
> 
> Archive: I would be honored if you want to archive it. Please let me know where so I can visit it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy, etc. own BtVS. Blah, blah, blah. 
> 
> Author's Note: All fiction can now be found at my website
> 
> Italics are in *_____*.

"I don't want a new traffic reporter," Spike groused, arms crossed and lip jutted out like a toddler. All that was missing from his borderline tantrum was the perfunctory stomp of his foot.   
  
"It's not a matter of what you do or don't want, Spike," Anya Jenkins, the station manager, pointed out for him. "It's a matter of keeping it all in the family. And that's what we're doing. Keeping it in the family."   
  
Spike sighed and ran a hand through his bleached blonde hair. Drusilla Dalton had been his traffic anchor for three years. She knew exactly how he liked his traffic and she knew exactly how to speak to his audience so that they would turn up instead of tune out.   
  
"Dru's family," he tried.   
  
"We're making changes, Spike," Anya smiled tightly. "And Dru's not part of it. My hands are tied. I like her, too. She's a nice girl. And it's nothing personal. But we just can't work around this one. She's an employee of StrataTraffic and she's under a binding noncompete. I couldn't bring her over even if I wanted to do so."   
  
So that was that. Dru was out. And some new, yet unnamed girl, was in. Spike nodded in defeat. It was one of the things that happened in radio over which he had no control.   
  
"When does it start?" he wanted to know.   
  
"A week from Monday."   
  
Buffy Summers had been reporting traffic for 15 of her 32 years. She'd done it all -- driven around town in search of crashes and delays in a bright green Pacer that she called the Mother Ship, flew around in a puke and mildew scented Cessna, she'd even gotten her pilot's license and flew a small chopper while reporting live above multi-car pileups and metropolitan gridlock. She'd spent the last four years flying over San Francisco while she reported on the backed-up traffic on the Carquinez Bridge Toll Plaza.   
  
She was contemplating a change when she received a call from Rupert Giles, her old boss from StrataTraffic in Los Angeles. He had been put in charge of an upstart traffic center basedin Sunnydale and was desperate for reliable anchors.   
  
"I can offer you what you're making in San Francisco," he told her.   
  
"I highly doubt that," was her smug reply.   
  
"Buffy," he said, his voice taking on a serious tone. "I can offer *you* what you're making in San Francisco. I can't offer anyone else that. I couldn't justify it. But I can with you."   
  
"Where, Giles?"   
  
She was thinking about it. The huge grin threatened to crack his face in two and he found himself fighting to keep from giggling with glee.   
  
"The beautiful small town of Sunnydale, California!"   
  
A small town. Buffy had always loved the small towns. And her current salary while living in Sunydale? It would net to even more with Sunnydale's lower cost of living.   
  
"This is a big decision," she sighed, hoping that Giles would buy her act.   
  
Her insides were twisting excitedly. Her answer was yes. But there was still a game to play before she could reveal that to Giles.   
  
"Watchers' Council Media would have to meet some of my terms, Giles, and I don't know that they'd be willing to give me everything that I want," she continued.   
  
"What do you need, Buffy? Just name it and it's yours," he told her, no longer able to conceal how thrilled he was.   
  
"Moving expenses," she began.   
  
"Done."   
  
"Temporary housing --"   
  
"Done," he interrupted.   
  
"For one month," she finished.   
  
He was silent.   
  
"Giles?"   
  
"Two weeks is all I can guarantee," he countered.   
  
"I have a great condo up here in San Francisco," she said nonchalantly. "And I'm quite happy with my current job..."   
  
"Fine," he sighed in resignation. "One month."   
  
"I want my hours and my job expectations in writing so that there is never a question about what I do or when I do it."   
  
"Done."   
  
"And finally, I want in on book bonuses."   
  
Giles' head dropped into his hand. She was killing him. He knew exactly why she wanted in on the book bonuses: she'd been the neglected salvation to just one too many morning shows.   
  
"I don't know, Buffy," he said honestly. "The best I can do is promise you everything else you ask until I can meet with Anya and the program directors."   
  
That's not what she wanted to hear and they both knew it. But it was the only asnwer he could give her at the time.   
  
She waited for him to say something more, but after too long a stretch of silence, she realized that it really was the best he could do.


	2. Chapter 2

"She wants *what?*" Spike practically screamed as he began to pace the length of the conference room table.   
  
"She's worth it, Spike," Giles promised. "I need you in my corner for this."   
  
"It's bad enough I have to sack Dru. Now some tits that can talk wants a cut of my book bonus? No. N-O, mate. It's not going to happen. I work hard, do a lot of preparation, to give my audience an enjoyable, informative and entertaining show every day. Little Miss Traffuck has nothing to do with that," he laid into Giles.   
  
Giles turned to the program director for the country station, WJKR, Jackrabbit Country.   
  
"Caleb," he pleaded. "You've worked with Buffy. You know what she can do for a show."   
  
Caleb Carter smiled and nodded. He knew exactly what a rare find Buffy Summers was. She was drop-dead gorgeous, smart as a whip and quick, quick, quick in the wit department. She gave accurate information in such a way that the listener looked forward to sitting in traffic just to hear her quips and witty banter with the jock.   
  
"I've got your back, Rupert," Caleb confirmed.   
  
Glory Adonis, the program director for the alternative rock station was already grinning. She'd never worked with Buffy Summers, but she had grown up listening to her give some of the funniest reports she'd ever heard. Buffy Summers managed to sound sexy, smart and funny all at once. During her stint as the "Nude Traffic" reporter on the Riley Finn Show, she and Riley made it a habit to see just how raunchy they could get before they got a red line call from the program director. Buffy Summers was exactly what the Fiasco needed.   
  
"I'm in," Glory said enthusiastically. "My boys need a little ruckus in their treehouse. She's the best!"   
  
"I'm in, too," Ted Whedon, the program director for the family station agreed. "As raunchy as she is on the rocker, she relates incredibly well to the soccer moms and church picnic crowd."   
  
Spike looked accusingly at each of his peers. He was beyond it being a replacement for Dru. Now, it was personal. Giving her this, would be giving her enough rope to hang them all.   
  
"It's not like it's actual dollars out of your pocket, Spike," Glory said when she was him scowling.   
  
"It's principle, Love. She's traffic. She tells you that there's a fifteen minute delay on I-5 between Highway 60 and Valley View. She tells you there's a wreck on Harbor Freeway at Manchester and maybe she even tells you that it blocks the right lane," he said with a shake of his head. "It's not brains, children. This is an added implement to our shows, not a crucial part."   
  
His head snapped up when he heard the thunderous laughter boom out of Caleb Carter.   
  
"Maybe today she's not, but give her a week and you won't remember what you ever did without her," he warned his younger colleague.   
  
Giles was relieved when he finally got all of the program directors behind him. Anya would be a piece of cake.   
  
"It's your head, Rupert," she told him firmly. "I expect her to deliver which means I expect *you* to deliver."   
  
Buffy was the most experienced of her co-workers at the traffic hub in Sunnydale. The state of the art studio made it entirely possible to do traffic for any market in the country. It was the first time in years she'd been 'grounded' instead of an airborne reporter.   
  
Ethan Raine had been hired to handle the news stations in three different markets. He had a deep, bass voice that boomed from his body in peals. His long, silver hair was pulled back into a long braid that reached the middle of his back. His skin was darkly tanned from years of falling asleep on his fishing boat, the Alice Marie. Ethan had worked for some of the biggest broadcast companies in history in so many markets it made Buffy's head spin. Her jaw dropped when she saw him. He was one of the greats.   
  
"Ethan Raine!" she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "What a pleasure and honor to even share the same space as you! I'm just so surprised to see you doing traffic."   
  
He chuckled and blessed her with a wide grin. Age looked good on Ethan Raine.   
  
"Well, I got tired of working for a living, so Alice and I packed up the station wagon and sold the house in Rochester to head West and retire," he told her. "And then I got bored."   
  
She shook her head with a small smile. Legendary Ethan Raine had chosen to become a traffic reporter out of sheer boredom. There was something to be said for that.   
  
She took a seat at her desk and logged onto her computers. One was solely for production and archiving. The other was equipped with internet and the favorites folder housed a variety of police departments, highway patrol and travel sites. It was also set up with Infinite Traffic's very own traffic program.   
  
The girl who sat beside her was about her age. She had dark brown hair that was professionally highlighted and bobbed at her chin and looked way too elegant for the job. She wore a crisp linen suit in butter yellow and matching spectator pumps. Her make-up was expertly applied and her eyes were alert and focused.   
  
"Cordelia Chase," she smiled tightly, offering her hand to Buffy.   
  
"Buffy Summers," Buffy smiled in return.   
  
She found out that Cordelia would be handling the cluster out of Visalia. The market was small, but booming. Traffic service had become a neccessity. Cordelia had previously been a news anchor in the small building that housed all four stations. She was familiar with the market and the people.   
  
Jenny Calendar covered the company's five Spanish stations spanning from Sacramento to San Diego. She had been stolen from a rival traffic service and was able to find a loophole in her noncompete. She had smooth skin the color of caramel and thick, black hair cut into a face-framing pixie. Her eyes glittered black as coal and her smile was a showstopping white. She was petite and energetic which had earned the nickname from her affiliates of "Latin Dynamite."   
  
Andrew Wells had been assigned two stations plus the job of producing traffic forthree markets. He was a relative newcomer to the broadcast industry at the tender age of 23, but he was eager to learn and to please. He was the King of Multitasking.   
  
Faith Lehane sat scowling in the corner. She had picked up two of the local talk stations and a rock station from across the country in Birmingham, Alabama. Buffy had heard about her becoming the victim of downsizing. She realized that Faith was lucky to have a job at all. Unfortunately, Faith treated it as more of a bane than a blessing. Her eyes shot daggers at everyone in her vicinity. Her posture screamed "fuck off" loud and clear. And that's exactly what everyone did.   
  
It was a bright and early 5:30 AM. The sun hadn't even broken across the darkened sky. Buffy dug through her binder for a list of station hotlines so that she could go about introducing herself to the morning jocks she'd be serving.   
  
"Hotline, this is Carter in the Morning," Caleb called into her ear.   
  
"Caleb Carter?" she asked, her voice taking on a girlish tone.   
  
"The one and only," he replied. "Who's this?"   
  
"Buffy Summers."   
  
"Well, hot damn! Buffy Summers! How long has it been, girl?" he whooped.   
  
"Apparently too long since you didn't even recognize my voice!" she joked.   
  
Caleb's hearty laugh vibrated through the phone.   
  
"I've got your schedule and I wanted you to know that I'll be standing by for your first report at 5:50," she told him brightly.   
  
He said he was looking forward to working with her again before hanging up.   
  
She called the Fiasco next. They were a five member morning show consisting of the show's outspoken host Lorne Greenleigh along with his supporting cast of Oz, the producer Xander, Clem the Intern and Warren Mears as their phone screener. It was a boy's only clubhouse and she was busting in.   
  
"So, I hear you do your traffic completely in the buff," Lorne said glibly.   
  
"We do it your way, is my motto," she threw back at him.   
  
"How about on your back?" Xander wanted to know.   
  
"Just say the word and I'll do it spread eagle from the top of Mt. Olympus."   
  
The morning show at Ocean 101.7 wanted their traffic canned for the first week while they figured out just what to do with her. Johnathan Levinson already had an adroit, albeit jealous, co-host. He had to figure out a way to make her an integral part of the show without bruising his Amy's fragile ego.   
  
"Talk to me," was how Spike answered his hotline.   
  
"Hi, this is Buffy Summers. I'll be doing your traffic. I just wanted to touch base with you before we start to see if there was anything in particular you wanted me to know."   
  
Like the fact that he didn't want her on his show? Or that he fought her book bonus tooth and nail? Or how about how he felt pushed into something of which he was just too damned uncertain?   
  
"Nothing major," he said a little tightly. "Do your traffic and just remember this is my show. Any other questions?"   
  
She was a little suprised by his aloofness, but didn't let on.   
  
"Nope," she told him, her smile evident in her voice. "That's all I needed to know. I'll be e-mailing you my direct line along with my IM screen name so that we can keep in contact during the show. Thank you for your time."   
  
She hung up quickly and stared at the phone, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Part of her wanted to excuse him by saying maybe he just wasn't a morning person, however she didn't think that held much truth.   
  
She hit her cues without a problem even though she was surrounded by five other people who were talking at the same time as she. Scanners were blaring in the background and phones were ringing off the hook as listeners began calling in their own traffic tips.   
  
She glanced at her clock and pulled her headphones over her ears so that she could monitor Kiss FM. Spike was already backselling the last song.   
  
"...the latest from Gwen Stefani whose album has just been certified platinum. Now you guys know how Ifeel about change..." He played a rude sound effect before continuing. "It sucks... but it's what makes the world go 'round. Know what else sucks? Traffic. Buffy Summers, what's happening on our roadways this morning?"   
  
"Looks like a multiple on Santa Monica Freeway... and it's not the kind we like, ladies. One, two, three, four, five cars and an SUV are jamming up the left and center lanes, you've got a fifteen minute delay," she said smoothly.   
  
Spike tried to hide the smile playing on his lips. He looked up and his producer, Dawn, was grinning from ear to ear. Looks like she'd already gotten in good with Dawn.   
  
"Double penetration of the Beaver... two huge chunks of wood are blocking the right lane at Cranston Avenue making it a sluggish ride in and nobody likes a sluggish Beaver. I'm Buffy Summers, Kiss 107 Traffic."   
  
Spike was stunned speechless. It wasn't until a paper wad hit him from across the console that he snapped out of it.   
  
"She was fuckin' awesome," Dawn bubbled.   
  
"Watch your mouth, Bit," he automatically chastised her.   
  
His producer was young, golden-haired and full of that sorority girl sparkle. She'd liked Dru, but had always told him that she just wasn't quick enough. He'd shoot a quip her way and she'd giggle and let it fall flat. Buffy Summers wasn't the kind of woman who would let something drop. She'd successfully volley until a draw was declared.   
  
"Better be nice to her, Spike," she continued, oblivious to the sour look growing on his handsome face. "I have the feeling she could tear you limb from limb."  
  
By the end of the show, he was in one of the surliest moods Dawn had ever seen. He was slamming things down and practically snapping at callers. The callers, unfortunately for him, had all loved Buffy Summers and one guy had even made the comment that he bet she was so hot she could melt butter. And then he volunteered to be the guy to lick it off of her.   
  
"I want a picture of Buffy Summers," Spike instructed Dawn as she trailed him from the studio to his office.   
  
"You're just dying to see if she really is hot enough to melt butter," Dawn smirked.   
  
He turned and crossed his arms in front of his chest.   
  
"I want," he began pointedly. "To make sure our website stays up to date."   
  
Dawn didn't let his snippy attitude bother her at all. She had seen the best and the worst of Spike. She knew him well enough to know why he really wanted the picture. And she knew that he was pissed at the world because Buffy Summers had made an impression on him and it was more than good.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike stared at the headshot in his e-mail box slack-jawed. The photo was flawless. The girl was perfect. Her hair was cut in a shoulder-length shag and was highlighted artfully in glossy shades of caramel, gold and straw. Her eyes were moss green and sparkled mischievously. Her lips were shiny pink and parted to reveal a toothpaste-ad smile. Her skin was flawlessly tanned and glowed with a healthy blush. She was wearing a chocolate brown tank top with beads embellishing the straps and neckline. The only jewelry he could see was a tiny diamond stud in her left nostril.   
  
His eyes dropped down to the text forwarded to him from Dawn. Buffy Summers. Age 32. Married. Married. What did he care? His eyes trailed back up to her photo. He couldn't keep his gaze from returning to her face. According to her bio, she liked the beach, chocolate, dogs and music. She listened to everything from jazz to hard rock, although she preferred late 90's alternative rock. She had a Cocker Spaniel named Sparticus and a Beta fish named Benny. She was born and raised in Los Angeles and had attended college at UCLA. She received a degree in Art History while reporting traffic full-time for the little AM station in the Valley she'd been working for since she graduated high school.   
  
There was a picture of her standing beside a dark green AMC Pacer. Her hair was waist-length and flowed down her back like Tupelo honey. She was wearing a pair of denim cut-offs and a heather-grey tank-top that read UCLA in black across a black, grey and white seal. She had flip-flops on her feet and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head. She had hear arms spread out in front of the car and the caption below it read: Buffy Summers, live from the Mother Ship, on 980 WNBN.   
  
He scrolled down to another picture. She was hugging a buff-colored puppy and wearing little more than a smile. The maroon bikini did little to cover her assets. Her hair was twisted up and secured with a clip. A few tawny tendrils had escaped and the puppy was chewing on one. She looked like she was laughing and Spike found himself wishing that he was on the receiving end of that beguiling smile.   
  
"What the Hell am I doing?" he grumbled, closing his e-mail.   
  
So what if she was just as gorgeous as he was afraid she'd be? So what if she had a voice laced with honey and sunshine when she spoke? So what if her sexy delivery and her incredible wit left him cursing silently for allowing himself to be so affected?   
  
"Did you get Buffy's bio?"   
  
Dawn's voice startled him. He wasn't sure how long she'd been standing in his doorway. He lifted his eyes to her and nodded numbly. Dawn took it as an invitation and flopped down into one of the chairs across from his desk.   
  
"She's so awesome! I mean, she's worked for some of the best stations in the country!" Dawn began prattling, unaware of the storminess in Spike's dark blue eyes. "She gives a girl hope, you know? She's like a... a... founding foremother. She's paving the way for girls in this business."   
  
She stopped and stared at Spike. He was doodling on his desk blotter and she couldn't be sure, but she could have sworn he was pouting.   
  
"Dude," she said, waiting for him to acknowledge her. "Spike."   
  
He looked up and forced a smile at the young woman who had taken the liberty of stretching her long leg over the arm of his office chair. Dawn was so unaffected. She hadn't been in the business long enough to become jaded. He wondered if Buffy Summers was jaded.   
  
"Yeah, Love," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "She's a peach."   
  
Dawn was watching him carefully, he was trying to busy himself to avoid her gaze. He was sullen, almost childishly pouty.   
  
"Was something going on between you and Dru?" she found herself asking.   
  
"What?" His head snapped up.   
  
"I mean, was there a relationship of some sort outside of work?" she tried again, not caring that he was her boss and she was an intern-turned-producer.   
  
"Where the Hell would you get that?" he almost laughed.   
  
"I don't know, Spike. You're pouty and snippy. You were kind of rude to Buffy this morning when she called. You're, like, pissed at the world."   
  
"No. There was nothing going on between me and Dru," he promised.   
  
"Did you want there to be?"   
  
Dru was an attractive woman, but she was not at all Spike's type. Buffy Summers was Spike's type.   
  
"No," he told her with a small smile. "I, uh... I just really thought she was a great chit, you know? She'd been my traffic reporter for three years. I thought it was unfair to push her out for someone like Buffy Summers."   
  
"Someone like Buffy Summers..."   
  
Dawn turned that over in her head.   
  
"Meaning...?"   
  
Spike shrugged. He wasn't sure what he meant. She was pushy. Book bonus, my ass, he thought ruefully. That was pretty much obnoxious.   
  
"She's just... she's..."   
  
"She's fucking awesome," Glory Adonis gushed, bursting into Spike's office without invitation.   
  
She had been walking past his door when she heard Buffy's name mentioned. She caught the tone in Spike's voice and couldn't help but put in her two-cents worth.   
  
"You know, Spike," she began, her red-laquered fingernail pointed at him. "You're beginning to make me think that you're just as antiquated as some of the assholes you've complained about in this business. You're pissed off because she wanted what's been due to her for years when you know that if a man had made the same deal as she had, you'd be patting him on the back for being a go-getter, forward thinking... for taking care of himself. When Buffy Summers does it, she's a bitch."   
  
He heard the accusations tumbling from Glory's lips and felt his cheeks flash heat for a moment. He knew she was right and it shamed him to think he was that petty. But he couldn't help himself. He wanted to hate this woman so much.   
  
"You should have *heard* her this morning!" Glory continued gushing to Dawn. "She had my boys falling all over themselves. They asked for her to send a picture during their 8 AM hour and they posted her on their website for Babe of the Day. She's the total package. She's brains and beauty. Sexy, sassy and smart. She's what we all aim to be in this business. And now you," she turned to Spike with a simpering glare. "Want to take us all back to the stone-age by keeping her barefoot, pregnant and quiet."   
  
"I said *nothing* about barefoot and pregnant!" he defended himself.   
  
"You know what I mean, Spike," Glory continued on her tirade. "You think a woman's best on her back or with a dick in her mouth!"   
  
He stood up, his face flushed with anger.   
  
"I do not!" he shouted.   
  
"Then prove it," Glory said quietly and simply before leaving.   
  
Dawn was staring at him from where she sat. He was still standing, his eyes shooting daggers at the empty doorway.   
  
"Sounds like a challenge, Spike," she said with a devious smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Two months had gone by with Buffy's quick wit and sexy innuendo. As much as Spike wanted to fight it, he adored her. She was funny. She was smart. She was gorgeous. Just as Glory Adonis had told him, she was the total package. Yet he fought her every step of the way. He cracked jokes with her on the air, yet when she called or sent him and instant message on the computer, his responses were curt and professional.   
  
"Flaccid power lines could delay your trip on 57 Orange Freeway as you approach Chapman Road. Breitburn Energy promises to give them the Viagra treatment and they'll be up in no time," Buffy reported.   
  
Dawn practically fell out of her chair as Spike let out a wicked laugh. He'd ignored her reports for two months, but the report of those flaccid lines finally broke his resolve. Dawn continued to stare as he shot Buffy an instant message.   
  
"Flaccid power lines... Viagra treatment... Up in no time... you're killing me, Pet!" he typed to her.   
  
"Like that, huh? You should see how I handle a broken down semi," she replied.   
  
"Probably you just like saying the word semi," he shot back.   
  
"Saying? You should see what I can do for a broken down semi," was her immediate response.   
  
He felt his face stretching into a long overdue smile.   
  
"As long as you're offering..." he told her.   
  
"Bring it, Bleach Boy. But be prepared... you know the Sausage Lady on the Stern Show?"   
  
"Yeah..."   
  
"Yeah. Well, I can't do that... but what I lack in throat capacity, I make up for in technique and tongue action."   
  
"Holy shit, Buffy," he typed back. "You're married!"   
  
"Married, Bleach Boy. Not dead," she explained.   
  
Married. She shook her head as she stared at the word on her computer screen. She didn't know why she left that on her bio. She was almost not married. Angel had opted to stay in San Diego with no plans to follow her down to Sunnydale. He didn't even fight her on it. And he didn't beg her to stay. He, in fact, seemed relieved when she announced her plans.   
  
"I think it's a great idea, Buffy," he told her. "You've been wanting a change."   
  
"What about *us*, Angel?" she asked, trying not to let his reaction bother her. "We promised to try and work things out."   
  
"We can still do that," was his quick reply. "Maybe... Buffy, maybe a little distance is what we need until we can figure out if there's still an us."   
  
"Yeah," she'd nodded, crushed. "Maybe that's what we need."   
  
She glanced back down at her screen. Spike had responded with several question marks and then he send another message asking why she was calling him Bleach Boy.   
  
"I read your bio on the station site. And I saw your picture, too. Hair that color can not be found in nature."   
  
She had given him a nickname. Spike was beyond surprised. He'd known Dru for three years and she'd never called him anything but Spike. He didn't even think that she knew his real name. Dawn didn't even know his real name.   
  
"Cute. And what should I call you? Goldie Locks?"   
  
"Goldie's nice. It carries well when shouted in anger... or ecstacy."   
  
This woman was making his head spin. For years, he'd been the master of artistic innuendo. Now, here she was... Buffy Summers... making his knees go the Jello route with her sexy comebacks.   
  
"Oh, then... Goldie Locks, it is."   
  
"What's so funny over there?" Dawn asked, interrupting his thoughts.   
  
"Nothing, just an e-mail from a friend," he found himself lying.   
  
"So... does this mean you don't hate my guts any more?" Buffy typed to him.   
  
He looked at the screen for a moment, not sure how to answer the question.   
  
"Why would you think I hate your guts?"   
  
"The walls have ears, darlin'," she told him. "And really big mouths. Plus, you always sound like you want to snap my neck when I call you."   
  
He hadn't realized just how hateful he'd sounded. And walls? Ears? Really big mouths? He tried to piece together who might have told her that she wasn't quite his favorite person.   
  
"I sound that way?"   
  
"Yeah... all... you know, grr!"   
  
He couldn't help but chuckle out loud again.   
  
"You just made little grr hands, didn't you?" he asked her.   
  
She sent him back a smiley with red cheeks indicating she'd been caught.


	5. Chapter 5

Spike sat at his desk staring at the computer screen. He had music calls to make, logs to schedule and lunch with the rep from Interscope at noon. Instead of getting a jump on work, he was staring at a picture of Buffy Summers.   
  
"I'm not supposed to like you," he said quietly. "You're not supposed to get under my skin."   
  
*But you are*, he thought.   
  
She was just under two hours away from him. He thought about doing a pop-in at Traffic Central in Sunnydale. Surely, he could come up with some excuse for being there that wouldn't make him look like he was specifically seeking out Buffy Summers.   
  
His eyes darted to his phone and back to the computer screen. He could just call Giles. Tell him that he was going to be on Sunnydale on business and that he wanted a tour. He could do that. It would be easy.   
  
Or he could just show up. He could show up and say, "Hey, I was in Sunnydale on business..."   
  
He sighed and shook his head. Buffy Summers was getting to him and he had no right to let it happen. She was married. She was an employee for the most part. His phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts.   
  
"Spike," he answered. "What's up?"   
  
"Spike, so glad I was able to get a hold of you!"   
  
It was Giles. He felt the skin on his arms tingle as it turned to gooseflesh.   
  
"Hey, what's up, mate?"   
  
This was the golden opportunity. All he had to say was that he was coming to Sunnydale and wanted a tour.   
  
"I wanted to invite you to tour our new studio," Giles told him. "We're having an open-house a week from Tuesday."   
  
Spike froze in place. Giles was still talking, but he'd already tuned him out.   
  
"Will you be there?"   
  
"Uh, yeah," he stammered. "I'll be there."   
  
He hung up the phone and stared at the computer screen again. How the Hell was he going to get through an in-person meeting with Buffy Summers without pushing her up against the nearest wall and kissing her senseless?   
  
*You need to go out and get laid*, he told himself. When was the last time he'd played naked Twister with a woman? He couldn't even remember. He'd buried himself in work since moving from New York. *Haven't I been with anyone since Cecily*? he asked himself. The suprising answer was no.   
  
He had met Cecily at NYU during his sophomore year. She was beautiful and sweet, but had never been very big in the brains department. After four years of togetherness, he realized that they had little in common beyond the bedroom. It was an amicible break-up. She told him she understood and he said they could still be friends. That was a load of shit. The last thing he wanted was to be friends with someone he could hardly stand to be in the same room with. The sight of her made him hard. And he knew that being friends with her would just lead him back into temptation. He needed a clean break.   
  
When the programming gig opened up in Los Angeles, he jumped at it. He'd sent Anya Jenkins a very honest letter along with his resume that said, "I have absolutely no experience as a program director. However, I just broke-up with my girlfriend of four years, I'm moving to California with or without a job and I don't know a single soul there. I like to bury myself in work, I have a low tolerance for stupid people and I am a glutton for ratings. Pretty much, I'd sell my left testicle for a number one book." Anya flew him down the day after she received the letter and had practically hired him on the spot.   
  
A wicked grin crossed his lips and he pulled up Buffy's e-mail address. He hen-pecked out a short e-mail telling her that he'd be at the open house a week from Tuesday and to "wear something naked." He hit send before he could change his mind.   
  
Buffy stared at her screen with just a little more than amusement dancing in her eyes. *Wear something naked*, she read and then read again. She shook her head and debated sending back an equally randy e-mail but decided against it.   
  
Spike had confused her from day one. He ran hot and cold. No degrees in between. He was short with her off the air and acted like they were best friends when she was on the air. *Until this morning*, she reminded herself. His instant message had caught her off guard, but she had found herself smiling at his comments. Now he was sending her an e-mail about being naked.   
  
Another e-mail arrived while she was still staring at the first. This one was an amendment that told her not to feel she needed to wait until the open house to try on the emperor's new clothes. She could begin immediately.   
  
She decided to respond.   
  
*Probably I should report you to HR for sexual harrassment, but I won't unless you stop. At the risk of sounding like a total slut (not that I care nor deny), wearing underwear is against my religion. Hope you've appreciated the panty-free reports you've been receiving.   
  
Love and other indoor sports,   
  
Buffy*   
  
She smiled, knowing that only Spike could appreciate her unique blend of humor and sexuality the way that it was intended.   
  
Buffy shut off her computer and grabbed the stack of mail sitting on her desk. Bill, bill... letter from her mother... coupons... something from the Fulton County Clerk's office. She set the rest of the mail back down and tore into the thick envelope. She pulled out the papers and unfolded them. She froze when she realized what she was holding in her hands.   
  
*You knew it was over when you told Giles yes*, she chastised herself.   
  
Still, she couldn't believe that Angel had actually gone down and filed the papers. She thumbed through the stack in her hands, shaking her head at every word. She set them back down on her desk and went back to the pile of envelopes she'd been leafing through when this particular one caught her eye. She found another envelope, the same size and color, addressed to her in Angel's narrow hand. With trembling fingers, she tore it open.   
  
*Buffy,   
  
Probably I should have done this in person, or at least on the phone. I'm fairly certain you've already opened the envelope from the court's office. I wanted you to be the one to do this Buffy, not me. I didn't want to be the shit. Not this time. Not any more than I already am. It's like that insult to injury thing you always accuse me of... and I guess you're right. I didn't fight when you said you wanted to go. I didn't make any promises that I'd follow you in a few months. I couldn't. And I still can't.   
  
I know this is going to sound really lame, but I like you, Buffy. I really, really like you. You're gorgeous, you're smart, you're kind-hearted. You're going to make some lucky man a wonderful wife and some child an incredible mother. But it's not me... it's not us, Buffy. It's nothing you did or didn't do. It's all me. And we both know it's true. We knew it when we said "I do" as much as we do now... I can't be faithful. There. I said it. Wow... it's staring back at me in black and white and I still can't believe I admitted it. I can't be faithful. It's not that I don't want to or that I don't know how... I do. Know how, that is. And I was for a very long time with you. And then there was the first indiscretion. She wasn't particularly pretty or bright. She wasn't even that interesting. But something in me chided me to go after her just to prove to myself that I still could. And it became an addiction. I couldn't stop. And that part of me that wanted to be the one for you, to be faithful to you, just couldn't compare to the part that wanted to bed every semi-attractive woman I saw.   
  
God. That sounds cold and... There are things that I need to say to you, questions I know you want to ask. I know you well enough to know what they are. Yes, I knew it would never be til death do us part. No, I was never in love with you. Yes, I loved and still love you. That's what makes this so difficult. No, I never thought of a future with babies for us. It was never your job, it was never how you looked or how you acted. You're incredible, Buffy. And I'm not just saying this to be comforting or consoling.   
  
I've been with Fred for 9 months now. I don't know where this is going. And I don't pretend to try. Have I been faithful to her? As much as I can. But there was you the whole time. And there was Harmony and Nina. Fred knows about you. If she broke up with me tomorrow, I'd miss her but I'd easily move on. I don't know if that's a blessing or a bane.   
  
Do I miss you? Yeah. I miss you, Buffy. I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way your body would melt into mine when we made love. I miss the smell of your perfume on the sheets.   
  
The kindest thing I could do for us both was to let you go, Buffy. You deserve so much more than I can offer you.   
  
Happiness, Buffy.   
  
Angel*


	6. Chapter 6

Her heart was thumping in her chest. *You knew it was over before it even began*, she scolded herself. Her heart didn't want to hear it, though. It was breaking for the six years she'd wasted by living in denial. She had talked about babies. Angel listened and agreed that he'd wanted them, too. But it was just never the right time for them to start actually *making* those babies. She was 32 and she was alone. ed was her only friend and he wasn't going to magically produce a husband and a bunch of kids for her.   
  
She reached for the divorce papers again and thought about ripping them up. *Make him sweat*, she thought. But who would that really hurt? *Me*, she realized weakly as she searched her desk for a pen. She scribbled her name on the appropriated lines and then stuffed the papers back into the envelope in which they arrived. She stared at them for a moment and then at her hand. Her wedding band seemed to be mocking her as it twinkled it the stray beam of sunlight let in through the blinds on the window. She pulled it off and slipped it into the envelope, too.   
  
  
  
Her voice was different. He wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't just the timbre or the tone. It wasn't just the lack of sparkle. This wasn't a scratchy throat from illness or allergy. But it had taken hold more than a week ago and hadn't disappeared. She was just as witty as always. To the average listener, there was probably no difference at all. But to Spike, it was like a blister that slowly festered.   
  
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Pet, or are you going to make spank it out of you?" he finally asked her via instant messenger.   
  
Instead of the truth, she told him that she had slipped on her bathroom floor after nude sunbathing and had been recovering from a nasty spill ever since.   
  
He didn't believe it for a second even as he asked her where the digital camera was.   
  
She found herself sighing heavily as she stared at the computer screen. Spike seemed to be the only person who could truly get through to her these days. She interacted with her co-workers. She called her family from time to time. She'd had an hour-long coversation with her mother about how Angel leaving was truly a blessing in disguise and that she'd survive. She always survived. Her father had reminded her that "that which doesn't kill us, can only make us stronger." Leave it to Mr. Sensitivity's words of wisdom when what she really wanted was to be "poor babied" until the pain went away. Spike was her only escape from her miserable life.   
  
Wouldn't that just twist his world, she thought, if he knew how pathetic and how totally not sexy I really am.   
  
She thought for a moment before responding to his request for naked digital pictures of her.   
  
"You see," she began typing. "The truth is, I'm afraid you'll fall madly in love with me and then I'll have to break your heart."   
  
"You're a married woman," he told her. "You have a husband. The best I can hope for is the opportunity to make your legs quiver uncontrollably, and have you go into that 'don't-touch-me' mode."   
  
She chewed on her lip as the words hit her. *You have a husband*. Her fingers shook over the keyboard as she contemplated telling him the truth. *No, I don't*. Instead, she changed the subject and asked him if he was coming to the open house.   
  
"I was thinking about it," he responded. "I meant what I said about you being naked."   
  
She smiled and typed in the web address for the radio station's home page. She clicked on the link to his picture and bio. He had light blonde, nearly platinum, hair cropped close to his head and slciked down over the top of it. His eyes were a shade of blue that almost appeared iced under the dark arch of his brows. He wore an infinitely devilish grin. His skin was smooth and pale like porcelain. He wore a pair of faded Levis and a t-shirt, stretched over an athlete's build, which read: I'm the one your mother warned you about.   
  
She wondered if he looked that good in person. Something in his voice as it came over the air told her that he did. He was too confident to be anything but as gorgeous as the man on the screen was as he smiled up at the camera like he was smiling at a lover.   
  
"I'll do my best," she typed back. "But Giles may try to impose a dress code... and then, the only thing I can promise, is to be panty-free... Giles has always been understanding when it comes to my religion."   
  
Giles had scheduled the open house for early afternoon, before drive-time traffic began. Buffy wrapped up the morning shift and went home to nap by her apartment complex's pool. Spike's face had been burned into her brain since she pulled up his picture on the Kiss website. *He thinks you're married*, she reminded herself. Her bare finger would tell him otherwise.   
  
Going to work usually consisted of getting up, throwing her hair into a ponytail and brushing her teeth for first shift. Before returning for afternoon drive traffic, she'd spend a little time in the sun before showering and applying a smattering of make-up.   
  
*Why am I going through so much trouble today*, she asked herself. She knew why. Spike had seen the ten year-old photo of her with the Mother Ship. He'd seen the five year-old headshot. He had yet to see the 32 year old woman trying vainly to dupe her burgeoning crow's feet into disappearing with the application of Oil of Olay. She smoothed Organza lotion over shower-warm body. Her skin had a golden glow and her cheeks were just pink enough from the sun so that she wouldn't have to wear very much make-up.   
  
The shag cut had grown out of her hair, but she had kept up the highlights. She blow-dried it until it was almost dry and then set it with soup-can sized rollers. She brought out her moss-green eyes with shades of golden brown and honey. She lined them in dramatic black and brushed on two coats of mascara. She glossed her lips to a pouty sun-kissed pink.   
  
She grinned as she thought about just what Spike would do if she really did show up naked. Instead of finding out, she pulled on a pair of ecru pants with a chocolate brown wide-set pinstriping that rode low on her slim hips. She topped them with a matching ecru crotcheted tank top that moulded itself to her breasts and stopped just a little short of the top of her pants. It exposed a strip of golden-brown skin and a tasteful diamond star in her navel.   
  
She buffed her fingernails until they shone and brushed a coat of sheer pink polish on her toes. When they were dry, she stepped into a pair of kitten-heeled sandals.   
  
She gave her hair one last blast with the blow-dryer before taking the curlers out. She finger-combed it into place and then misted it with a little hairspray. She wore a diamond pendant at her throat, diamond studs in her ears and the tiniest diamond of all in her nose, something she hadn't worn on regular occasion for quite a few years. She slipped on her watch and then stared at her hands. She wondered if she should put her wedding band back on, at least for today. Instead, she dug through her jewelry box for her engagement ring. She slipped it on her right hand, instead. She spritzed herself with Organza before giving one last look to the mirror.   
  
*So, I'm not in my twenties anymore*, she thought. She still looked good.   
  
Spike usually threw on whatever smelled clean in the morning. It was a bad habit he only broke when he knew there would be meetings that would keep him from running home to shower and change after his show was done.   
  
He didn't even stop at his office to pick up messages before heading home that Tuesday. Once he was there, he took his time showering and shaving. He toweled off and ran a blob of gel through his tousled hair. He padded naked through his condo in search of his favorite Levi's. They were comfortable and they looked good, but not like he was trying too hard. He pulled on a pair of white socks and red Converse All-Stars and topped it with a black "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt. He splashed his face with Polo Blue and rubbed the rest onto his arms. Other than a diving watch on his wrist, the only jewelry he wore was a silver skull ring on his right hand.   
  
Buffy stood by the credenza at the back of the office chatting amiably with Caleb Carter. They had a lot of catching up to do.   
  
"You look just a gorgeous as ever, Buffy," he told her. "That Angel's a lucky son of a bitch."   
  
If he noticed the crestfallen look that flashed in her eyes, he didn't say a thing. Instead, he continued filling her in on where he'd been since their last flight together. She couldn't help her eyes from darting to the doorway every time it opened. Spike said he'd be there. Now, she was hoping he wouldn't show up. She had a feeling a little of him went a long way and that the two of them together would only be a recipe for disaster.   
  
"Glory Adonis," interrupted curly-haired strawberry blonde as she extended her hand.   
  
"Oh, nice to meet you," Buffy smiled, recognizing her name. "Buffy Summers. I just love those boys on the Fiasco."   
  
"And they just love you, Sugar!" Glory grinned. "That show needed a woman's voice so badly! Even if it's just a few quick cut-downs to their egos before heading into traffic, it's made a world of difference. Those boys just adore you, too."   
  
She was enjoying her conversation with Glory. Her cascade of curls bounced as she listened to one of Buffy's stories from her chopper days.   
  
"Gawd! I remember that! I knew right then that I wanted to be in radio and that I wanted to do it the Buffy Summers way," she said admirably.   
  
"The Buffy Summers way?" Buffy's brow furrowed with curiousity.   
  
"Take no bullshit from the boy's club, Buffy. I mean, when Giles told us that you wanted a cut of the bonuses, I thought that was absolutely brilliant!" she told Buffy. "We all did. Even Spike, though you wouldn't know it through the fuss he made."   
  
"Fuss?" Buffy's brow quickly unfurrowed and shot up.   
  
"Oh yeah... something about how dare some tits that can talk cut into his bonus and blah blah Little Miss Traffuck. He was just fit to be tied!" She informed Buffy.   
  
"Was he, now?"   
  
Buffy could feel her spine bristling with irritation. Spike was probably getting some sick pleasure by thinking his dirty messages and on-air innuendo was giving the tits that could talk a cheap thrill.   
  
"Oh, Buffy," Glory said with an apologetic smile. "Don't be mad. It's the fragile male ego. Before you insinuated your way into his show, he pretty much thought that a woman's place was on her back or with a dick in her mouth."   
  
"Oh, he said that, did he?" Buffy could feel her temperature rising.   
  
"Well, he didn't actually say those words... But me and Dawn, we set him straight. Some men just need a little longer when their little worlds get infiltrated by the female of the species. You know how that is, right? I mean, I'm sure you've fried bigger fish than Spike."   
  
Yes, she was sure she had. But none of them had affected her the way Spike, sight unseen, was affecting her now.   
  
"Speak of the devil," Glory drawled with a roll of her eyes.   
  
Buffy whipped around, ready to lash out at her cowardly attacker. Instead, she froze in place as her eyes locked onto his for the first time.   
  
"Buffy, honey," Glory began. "This is Spike. Spike, Buffy Summers."   
  
Buffy and Spike continued to stare at each other, both of them oblivious to Glory's presence. Glory, having the good sense to excuse herself, continued watching with interest from the other side of the room.   
  
"You're not naked, Love," he told her, his eyes never leaving hers.   
  
"Sorry to disappoint," she replied, insincerely. "I suppose it would make more sense for 'tits that can talk' to at least bare themselves, right?"   
  
She watched as Spike's cheeks colored slightly.   
  
"Been talking to Glory, I see," he stated tightly.   
  
"Mmmm... something like that," she nodded. "Of course, it was hard to understand her with that dick in her mouth."   
  
His eyes went wide for a moment and then he grabbed her arm and began walking her out of the room.   
  
"Someplace we can be alone?" he asked, never taking his hand from her arm.   
  
She nodded and continued walking with him until they were on the other side of the buidling. She sighed outside of a locked door and pulled her key fob from her pocket to beep them into the engineering office. She knew Joss wouldn't mind her using his space while he was out.   
  
"You're mad," he said matter-of-factly.   
  
"You think?" was her smart-assed response.   
  
"It wasn't personal, Buffy."   
  
No apology for his words. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. It was nearly impossible, but she willed herself not to fall under the spell she was sure he could cast with his stormy eyes. He put his hands lightly on her biceps and gave them a gentle squeeze.   
  
"Listen, it was about loyalty to Dru," he told her. "If I'm nothing else, I'm extremely loyal. She'd been good to me and to my station. I had a guilty conscience about letting her go only to bring another female in her place. She hadn't done anything wrong."   
  
Her arms were still crossed, but her shoulders had relaxed and her face wore an _expression that said "I'm listening."   
  
"And the whole tits that can talk thing? I was... I was angry, Pet. And I was wrong," he admitted. "If I hadn't heard it for myself, I wouldn't have thought any traffic anchor -- Dru included -- was worthy of a book bonus. Traffic people, well, they report traffic and they can be good at it. I didn't think that one could possibly become part of my show."   
  
She was still listening. She dropped her arms, ridding her of the last of her defensive stance. Why she was letting this even bother her was just ridiculous.   
  
"But... you did. These people call in and want to know how to get in touch with Buffy Summers. Hey, Spike... that thing about the sluggish Beaver had me laughing so hard that I didn't care that I was sitting in traffic. Or... or... Hey Spike, tell Buffy that the short-cut into downtown got me to the Blackeyed Peas concert right on time," he continued. "These people think you're the greatest thing since the internet. And that dick comment? That was all Glory. I never said a thing about any woman being on her back with a dick in her mouth."   
  
His hands were still caressing her arms. He seemed Hell-bent on her believing that he'd seen the error of his ways. And, dammit, she was beginning to believe him. On the phone and on the air, his voice was radio-happy. He was always on and just full of energy. In person, it was down an octave and it sank straight through her ears and into her belly. The way he looked at her was intense. He had no problem maintaining constant eye contact.   
  
His hands slid down her arms to clasp hers. It was only when his thumb lightly stroked the back of her left hand that he realized that she wasn't wearing a ring. She saw the question in his eyes and ducked her head down, hoping not to have to explain.   
  
Spike's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he realized that she wasn't wearing a wedding band. He looked down at their clasped hands and inspected it closer. No tell-tale tan line either. There was a large diamond flanked by two smaller ones on her right hand. Right, left... He thought for a moment. Right is insignificant.   
  
"Thought you were married," he said, his voice in a husky whisper.   
  
She raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eye.   
  
"I am," she said truthfully.   
  
"You are?" He asked, doubting her. "Don't see any ostentatious baubles or slim gold bands that scream 'mine' on your hand, Love," he pointed out.   
  
"It-it's... Complicated," she conceded.   
  
"Uncomplicate it for me."   
  
She looked up into his face and felt her cheeks warm at the intensity of his gaze. No man had ever looked at her with as much desire as she saw in Spike's eyes.   
  
"We're... in a trial separation," she fibbed.   
  
"So, you're just trying this whole separation thing, is it?" he confirmed.   
  
She nodded slowly.   
  
"Uh-huh," he said, not buying it. "Does this whole trial separation thing include your knees?"   
  
She bit her lip. It was something he would have said had she sent it to him during one of their online chat sessions. Up close, it about made her knees separate on the spot.   
  
"Not mine," she whispered.   
  
He caught the bitterness that had crept into her voice and released her hands.   
  
"Probably we should go rejoin the others before they wonder what happened to us," he said quietly, trying to understand what she had implicitly said.   
  
She followed him back to the traffic studio and beeped them in. Glory was the first to notice their return, but she chose to just smile and continue her conversation with Giles, allowing them to slip back in undetected.   
  
"Thanks for the tour," he said, loud enough for others around them to hear.   
  
"Oh, my pleasure," she smiled back, her eyes thanking him for the excuse for their disappearance.   
  
"You'll have to come up to LA some time," he told her, a little more quietly. "If you come up on a Friday, we can do the show together live and then you can come out with Doyle, Dawn and me when we broadcast live from 701 South. Probably you could use a weekend off, right?"   
  
Something in his voice sounded hopeful. And it tugged at her heart in a way she wished it hadn't.   
  
"We'll see," she told him.   
  
"If you think Glory likes to talk, wait 'til you meet Dawn," he told her. "You're her absolute hero. I swear, the girl literally falls out of her seat at least twice a week from something you say on the air."   
  
"I'd love to meet her," Buffy smiled.   
  
She'd spoken with Dawn before and the girl just bubbled with enthusiasm for the business. She remembered herself that way when she was back in college driving around in the Mother Ship.   
  
Somehow, the guys from the Fiasco had found their way to Traffic Central from Jacksonville. They arrived, minidisc recorder and microphone in hand, to meet the woman who, as Lorne put it, "made Xander Harris short out the board with his drool."   
  
Sweet was on afternoon drive on Kiss and had a barrage of questions ready when Buffy cracked the microphone open for her first report at ten after four.   
  
"So, you met the man," he baited her. "Bet he'll never come home now that he's caught sight of you up close and personal-like."   
  
"Maybe it's *me* who has decided to take *him* home and cuff him to my headboard so that I can do naughty things to him," she responded glibly, which wasn't an easy thing to do with the man in question standing directly behind her watching her every move under guise of having a conversation with Giles.   
  
"Right on, right on," Sweet said, backing off. "Seems like it's hot and steamy at Traffic Central. What's the what with our roadways, Buffy, girl?"   
  
"Long, thick and stiff, Sweet," Buffy beamed. "And I'm talking about the drive, the traffic and the drink you'll need when you get home."   
  
She couldn't see him, but she felt the magnitude of his smile even where she sat. She knew Spike was hanging on her every word.


	7. Chapter 7

He was still there when she sent her last report at 6:30. He'd busied himself with talking to Giles for awhile, and then he'd moved on to talk to a couple of the sales people and the program director from the AM station on the second floor of the Cinnamon Tree building. He was waiting on the bench in the ground floor lobby when she swung open the door from the stairwell.

"Have dinner with me," he said, standing to meet her.

Buffy heard the word "no" screaming in her head, but as soon as she opened her mouth she heard herself tell him okay.

"Do you live nearby?" Spike asked, escorting her through the lobby and holding the door open for her.

"Um, north of here a bit," she told him, unable to form a coherent thought. "And East... on Revello Drive."

"You live in a house?" he asked, now curious.

"I'm actually subletting an apartment in the top floor of an old house."

"Subletting," he repeated, following her into the parking area. "As in I'd better not commit in case this separation really is just trial?"

She dug her nails into her palms and let her lips form another lie.

"Yep," she nodded. "You never know."

She stopped in front of a beige Beetle convertible.

"Shall I drive?" She asked, wishing nothing more than to change the subject.

"Why don't I follow you," he told her. "And then we'll take my truck from there."

"From where?"

"Your place," he replied as if she were daft. "When I take a woman to dinner, I pick her up and I drop her off and if she's lucky, I kiss her so thoroughly that she's babbling my name for days."

Buffy felt the warmth creeping up her neck. She dug her keys out of her purse and then looked back up to see him leaning over the top of her car.

"You know this isn't a date, right?" she challenged him.

"I think this should definitely be a date, Pet," he responded with a grin. "And I think your other half should catch wind of it. Maybe a little jealousy would do him good. Or maybe you might just find out that you don't care what your other half thinks any more."

She sighed and shook her head. He was boyishly handsome with eyes that saw right into her soul. She watched as he walked across the lot to a black Explorer Sport Trac.

"Don't drive too fast," he warned her before getting into his truck. "Wouldn't want me to think you were trying to lose me."

He followed her at a safe distance, taking in all of the little things that were Sunnydale. He caught sight of a few small shops and a neighborhood bar called the Bronze that made him picture Buffy in something girly that showed lots of skin writhing in time to a pulsing beat. When they approached the corner of Revello and Whiteoak, she turned on her blinker and made a left. He followed. They passed by a row of Craftsman style houses before she turned on her blinker at a large Victorian-style home.

He parked in the guest spot next to her and shut off the truck. He sat for a moment, watching her as she walked toward her building. She stopped and stared at him, trying to appear annoyed, until he got out of the truck and followed her.

"Like I said," she told him as she slid the key into the deadbolt. "I'm subletting. So, most of the stuff in here does not belong to me. It was just a quick easy way for me to get a place to live until I figure out what I'm going to do."

"About the estranged husband?" he asked, as she held open the door for him.

"About my life in general," she sighed.

She flipped on a light switch just inside the doorway and shut the door behind them. The apartment smelled like her; a rare combination of vanilla and honeysuckle all wrapped up with a little bow of honeyed silk. He followed her into the living room where she offered him a seat and a drink. She certainly needed one.

He watched her through the breakfast bar as she poured a small can of pineapple juice into an ice-filled metal shaker. She added a hefty shot of bright green liqeur and another of coconut rum. She shook the concoction vigorously and then divided it into two cocktail glasses. Finally, she poured in a few drops of grenadine.

She crossed the living room and handed him a glass. He raised an eyebrow in question as to just what he was getting ready to drink and she smiled impishly.

"Gotham Sunrise," she told him, raising her glass to his. "To the ratings."

He clinked her glass and smiled back.

"To the ratings."

She disappeared into her bedroom to run a brush through her hair and freshen her make-up. He sat on the borrowed Santa Fe-inspired couch and took in the intricasies of her borrowed home. The Southwestern theme clearly wasn't her doing. He pictured her curled up on something plush and nubby in a deep shade of chocolate, her hair pulled back in a ponytail as she read a worn paperback romance novel. His eyes scanned the room and rested on a photograph, sitting on the end table, of her and a dark-haired man who was all forehead. They made an interesting looking couple, but he could tell from the photograph which one of them was really in love. She was looking up at him with a soft smile and her emotions pouring from her eyes. He was looking at the camera, leaning slightly away from her, with an amused look on his face.

"That's Angel," he heard her say. "My husband."

He nodded, wondering why she felt the compunction to constantly remind him that she was married. Her finger was still bare and it spoke volumes. He thought of pursuing the subject, but was afraid she'd quail and call off their dinner date. Not a date, he reminded himself.

"So," he said, standing.

He looked her over leisurely, taking in her freshly fluffed hair and the slightly darker eye make-up she had applied. To his ravenous eyes, she looked more like dessert than she did someone going to dinner.

"So," she echoed, reaching out a hand for his empty glass. "Good drink?"

She felt like a flustered teenager, cursing herself silently as she took his glass to the kitchen and placed it in the sink.

"Yeah," he said. "Different. Something you just made up?"

"Pretty much, yeah," she smiled. "During a stint as a bartender when I was in New York."

"New York, huh?"

"Yep. New York. Like anyone can live on just two salaries there!"


	8. Chapter 8

"Yep. New York. Like anyone can live on just two salaries there!"

He understood that all too well. He'd spent a few years trying to cut his teeth in broadcast there.

"Was there myself for a few years," he told her.

If she was surprised, she didn't let him know.

"Then you know of what I speak," she smiled. "I was working three jobs out there. Not how I wanted to spend the rest of my life."

He nodded in agreeance.

"So, uh, where to?"

"It"s your town, Sunshine. You tell me," he replied.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on him.

"Thought my nickname was Goldie?"

"Nah," he smiled, reaching out for her hand. She gave him hers tremolously. Seeing you in person, I think Sunshine is more suited to you. So... where to?"

"I guess it depends," she told him, her eyes lighting up mischievously.

"On what?"

"On who's buying."

They sat picking shrimp from a bucket at Crabby Joe's. Buffy took in a great gulp of the night air and sighed.

"I offer to take you anywhere and you pick this place," Spike laughed. "I like your style, Sunshine."

"Hey, pal," she said, pointing a buttered finger at him. "This is my favorite place."

She had changed into a pair of denim cut-offs and a black halter top. She traded in the kitten-heeled sandals for a pair of bejeweled flip-flops and her hair was tied in a high ponytail.

"I'm so not knocking it, Love," he assured her. "Just surprised, is all. Figured you to be the filet mignon type."

"Nope," she let him know as she downed a hefty swig of Budweiser. "I"m beer and buckets all the way."

Spike couldn"t help but let out a heart-felt chuckle as he watched her peel another shrimp. She dipped it in butter and then lifted it to her lips. He knew he was staring, but there was just something so sensual about the way she licked the lingering butter from her lips and fingers.

They sat side-by-side looking out at the lake when he wasn"t stealing glimpses of her.

"So, tell me again why you hated me so much," she told him, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. "Was it because you and Dru had a thing?"

"A thing?"

"Yeah," she smiled, reaching for a hush puppy. "A thing. We're you two an item?"

"What is it with you chits and assuming that just because I was shitty to you that there must have been something between me and Dru?" he wanted to know.

She shrugged, biting into the warm fritter. He did seem awfully defensive for someone who wasn"t any more than Dru"s colleague.

"I don't know," she told him, not caring that her mouth was half-full. "What chits? Who else thought you had a thing?"

"Dawn," he said with a shake of his head. "And there was no thing, okay? I'm just a loyal kind of bloke."

"You're just a big poop who can't handle change is more like it," she observed.

His eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to speak, but she was on a pyschoanalytic roll.

"Somebody comes along and derails your train and you can't see the other track through your own stubborness," she continued. "You're a big radio star. You should be more adaptable than that."

"I am adaptable!"

"No, you only think you're adaptable. I mean," she paused to take a drink of her beer. "Really, Spike. You"re great with the ad-lib. You can take anything your listeners or colleagues throw your way. But when it comes to something worming its way into your apple, well... You tend to freak out."

"You know what, Pet?" He looked like he"d been thunderstruck. "I do not freak out. I adapt. I run with the... With the..."

"With the ball," she finished. "Maybe. More fun to run with the bulls sometimes."

"You're saying I'm a staid, boring non-risktaker?" he asked.

"No," she denied. "I'm saying you don't mind the risks when you know the stakes."

She was baffling him. He knew the stakes, didn't he?

"You're trying to distract me, Bleach Boy. And it isn't working," she let him know. "Was there or wasn't there a thing?"

"I told you no!" he said, truly exasperated.

She popped another shrimp into her mouth and nodded.

"But you wanted there to be."

Again, these women and their crazy ideas were getting the better of him.

"No," he said. "I didn't want there to be. Dru was nice. And she was great on the air. She gave accurate reports, had great pipes and a friendly way about her. The audience was... well, they were used to her and so was I. Kind of like a sure thing, you know?"

"They depended on her and so did you," she agreed. "And you were afraid that by bringing in a newbie, you might be making trouble for yourself in the book."

"Nail. Head."

"That"s cool," she said honestly. "I get that. But, you know, it wasn't my fault. You didn't have to be a shit to me."

"You"re right," he apologized. "I didn't."

"We're past that now, right?"

"Yeah, Sunshine. We"re past that."

Buffy wiped her hands off with a napkin, then leaned forward on her elbows, hands clasped beneath her chin. Spike was a bit of all right. Trading e-mails and the occasional chat on the phone hadn't prepared her for him. His e-mails were filled with innuendo. His instant messenges were downright dirty. And their phone conversations were filled with giggles and flirtation. In person, he seemed a lot more wholesome. He seemed like the kind of guy a girl could take home to mom and dad. He seemed like a forever kind of guy.

"What's on your mind?" he wanted to know.

She looked so peaceful as she stared out into the moonlit night. Something was on her mind because her eyes held that faraway look in them.

"Nothing," she lied. "Just enjoying the scenery."

"And the company?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound desperate.

"And the company," she confirmed with a small nod of her head. "Thanks for taking me to dinner, Spike."

"Thanks for letting me."

Spike toyed with the idea of kissing her the entire drive home. Her lips were definitely kissable. The evening had been more enjoyable than he'd imagined. And it only made him like her even more.

Buffy was humming softly to the song on the radio. She'd managed to sidetrack him long enough to switch it to the rock station. She'd mentioned that she could only take so much of the music his station played.

Spike turned the truck into her apartment complex and pulled up next to her Beetle. Do I walk her to the door? He hadn't the first clue on what he should do.

"I had a great time," Buffy told him, not making any move to get out of the truck.

"Me, too."

"You sound a little surprised," she noticed, shifting in her seat to face him.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I guess I am, all things considered. I mean, we made it through the evening with your virtue completely intact and I've proven that I can have a nice time with a woman without her being on her back or having my dick in her mouth."

Buffy put her hand over her mouth in mock-embarrassment and giggled.

"You're lucky my virtue flew out the window years ago, Spike," she told him as she lowered her hand from her lips. "Or I'd have to slap you silly in order to keep up appearances."

"Just in case I've never said it before, Love," he told her. "I do respect you. And if you ever told me to stop, I"d be disappointed, but I'd do it. No questions asked."

"Lucky for you I'm such a Jezebel, then."

The silence stretched between them as they sat in the still-running truck. Buffy hadn't made any motion to leave.

"What would you do if I kissed you, Buffy?" he heard himself ask, his voice barely a whisper, as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Probably I'd like it very much," she told him. "And then I'd spend the whole night lying awake analyzing what it meant and why it happened. And then I'd remember that no matter what some stupid piece of paper says, I'm still married. And I'd feel guilty. And I"d probably get all avoidy on you after that."

"Honesty," he smiled. "You're big with that, huh?"

She nodded, knowing that she hadn't been, not 100. She couldn't. It would hurt too much.

"I respect that," he told her, inching just a bit closer to her. "Tell me again why I shouldn't kiss you."

She closed her eyes and breathed in his cologne. It was fresh and clean, not heavy and spicy like the kind that Angel wore. She could feel him drawing near, the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

If I keep my eyes closed, this won't happen, she lied to herself. And then she felt his lips brush over hers. It was a feeling so feather-light, she couldn't be sure she imagined it. And then it happened again. He wasn't pushing, just testing the waters.

She opened her eyes to see him watching her curiously. His eyes were midnight blue and leaden with desire. She put her hand out to push him away, but managed nothing more than resting it on his chest. His heart was beating thunderously under her palm even though his face never gave it away.

"Spike, we..." She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes again. "We can't."

But I want to, she heard inside her head.

He must have heard it, too. His hand came up to stroke her cheek as his mouth moved over hers more firmly, more insistently. When her lips parted beneath his, all bets were off. He couldn't stop himself from tasting her. He slid his tongue into her mouth and tentatively touched it to hers. Her hand gripped his shirt beneath where it lay and her tongue slid sensually against his.

It took every bit of restraint he had to pull away from her. He looked into her face, her eyes still partially closed and her lips dewy from their kiss. Her flushed cheeks made her look like an angel.

"I'd like to be a gentleman and walk you to your door," he told her breathlessly. "But I can't guarantee I'd be a gentleman once I got there."

She nodded, understanding what he was saying.

"So, I'll just watch from here to make sure you get in safely," he told her apologetically.

She reached for her purse and sighed shakily.

"Thank you, again, for dinner," she told him, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears. "I meant it when I said I had a wonderful time."

"Me too, Sunshine," he smiled as she opened the door and stepped out. "Don't think too much, okay?"

"I promise you nothing," she smiled back.

He watched until she disappeared behind her door.


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy didn't know where the tears had come from or why, but they were there. They clouded her senses and wrapped guiltily around her conscience.

"He cheated on me," she said aloud. "He cheated on me over and over again. He slept with other women. Touched them and then touched me."

She felt her stomach churning as the words filled her ears.

"And I bet he never once felt as sick about it as I do for just a simple kiss."

Never had she said the words aloud before. Never had she heard them ringing out into the empty room. Never had she felt such emptiness and disgust for what Angel had done. Never had she stopped loving him until the very moment all of her nevers culminated into one.

The sobs shook her body as she hugged the framed photo to her chest. She rocked herself on the living room floor mourning for the love she lost.

"Never again, never again, never again," she whispered rapidly. "I'll never let you hurt me again."

She was greeted by an e-mail from Spike the moment she opened her mailbox at work.

"Had a great time last night and hope we can do it again, with or without the kissing, Love... although I rather enjoyed the with," he told her.

She smiled sadly at the memory of his mouth on hers.

"Don't go getting all funny on me," he continued. "Or that book bonus you fought so hard for will be out the window."

She knew he was only joking and shook her head at the words on her computer screen, not even realized she'd let out a soft snort.

"Something funny?" Cordelia asked with a smile.

"My Kiss PD," she told her, not daring to repeat what he"d said. "He's always got something smart-alecky to say."

"Spike," Cordelia nodded with a smile. "He's a great guy. I worked with him for a few months in Anaheim. Neither of us lasted long, but he's the kind of guy who tries to make the best of any situation."

Buffy could see that about him. He had an easy-going way about him.

"Too bad about that whole mess with him and Darla," she said casually, curious if it would spark any jealousy in Buffy.

"Who's Darla?" Buffy asked, trying to sound just as casual.

"His girlfriend in New York. Nice girl. Drop-dead gorgeous. But not a whole lot going on upstairs if you know what I mean," Cordelia told her. "And in a cruel attempt to be kind, he severed ties with her and tried to move on. Poor girl was devastated. She ended up marrying some guy she met on the internet. I think Spike's always felt a little guilty about that."

"Wow."

Buffy's mouth was open and she closed it quickly.

"I heard that he dumped her for some cheap little piece of ass at the radio station up there," Faith interjected.

"No, no... He moved down here not too long after he broke up with Darla," Andrew threw in.

"Children," Ethan interrupted. "The man had merely decided to move on and look for a woman with substance."

Buffy turned to Ethan with a raised eyebrow.

"We met a few years back when a mate of mine and I brought the boat out for a fishing trip. Groo had worked with Spike in Anaheim. We got together for a few drinks, the Darla thing came up," he shrugged. "Nothing to fodder gossip about. Besides, we've got a nine car pile-up on the bridge that needs our attention."

She smiled at Ethan before returning her eyes to her computer screen. There was, indeed, a nine car pile-up on the bridge. Odd, she thought, since lately it was some sort of construction equipment left in the roadway causing tie-ups on the bridge. A ladder here, paint buckets there, some drywall, shingles.

"Hey Bleach Boy," she typed into her instant messenger. "I got the sponsors. Thanks!"

He'd sent a second e-mail with her list of traffic sponsors. While many of the other stations preferred to read the billboard for the sponsors, Spike liked it better when she did it. He always told her to feel free to ad-lib.

"That's not all I want to give you," he replied.

She blushed, remembering his kiss and how he did the most gentlemanly thing by leaving.

"Such big talk," she provoked.

She knew she was potentially opening a can of worms, but she loved verbally sparring with Spike.

"Hey, I'm the single one," he pointed out. "Nothing holding me back. Of course, I wouldn't mind you holding me on my back."

"You mean more like me straddling you while you"re on your back," she volleyed back.

"That's about right," he let her know. "And I like my women completely naked, Sunshine. None of those little strappy things to get in the way of my tongue."

"Who said anything about strappy things? I mean, panties are against my religion, remember? Why bother with any other acouterments."

He felt Dawn staring at him.

"What?" he asked, catching her eye across the console. "WHAT?"

She shook her head and lowered her eyes.

"Uh-uh, Niblet."

He sounded annoyed.

"Spit it out."

Dawn sighed and leaned forward, twisting a long strand of hair between her fingers.

"You disappeared somewhere with Buffy at the thingy yesterday," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Uh," he stammered for a moment. "I did what where?"

"Don't act all coy with me, Spike," she warned him with a sly smile. "I heard all about your disappearing act. And then the two of you came back in looking like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar."

"I have no idea what you"re talking about," he lied, feeling his cheeks flush. "I mean, I got the tour, if that's what you mean. Everyone got the tour."

"Glory says yours was a personal tour."

Glory Adonis. He'd seen her sneaking peeks at them and catching his eyes with a knowing smile.

He shrugged.

"Whatever."

"Oh, how very teenage of you," Dawn laughed. "Whatever. I stopped saying that, like, years ago."

"Maybe weeks," he teased. "Probably just days, Pet. Like, didn't I, like, hear you say "whatever" just, like, yesterday?"

She scowled and tossed a paper wad at him.

"Whatever."

Buffy finished sending a recorded report to The Fiasco who were at a live event. She smiled again as she glanced down at the blinking blue bar at the bottom of her screen.

"You might want to try out those panties some time. Half the fun is in the removal," he'd typed to her.

She sighed and decided to challenge him with her response.

"You're too virtuous to take a married woman."

He stared at the screen. Was he?

"Probably I am. But, Sunshine, I believe you saw first-hand that I can't be trusted alone with you."

She knew she couldn't be trusted alone with him. And she had every intention of never letting that happen again.


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy finished sending a recorded report to The Fiasco who were at a live event. She smiled again as she glanced down at the blinking blue bar at the bottom of her screen.

"You might want to try out those panties some time, Pet. Half the fun is in the removal," he'd typed to her.

She sighed and decided to challenge him with her response.

"You're too virtuous to take a married woman."

He stared at the screen. Was he?

"Probably I am. But, Sunshine, I believe you saw first-hand that I can't be trusted alone with you."

She knew she couldn't be trusted alone with him. And she had every intention of never letting that happen again.

"Come to LA," he asked her.

He hadn't seen her in nearly a month, yet they communicated with each other every day. He had no idea what had possessed him to actually pick up the phone and call.

The sound of his voice thrilled her. Hearing him on the air was very different than hearing him talking to her on the phone. It was intimate. It was just the two of them sharing a private moment.

"I can't," she told him, although she had no good reason why.

"Come on, Pet," he pleaded. "I'll even come pick you up."

"I think it's a bad idea," she said weakly.

He was thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, you don't have much of a choice," he said baiting her.

"I don't what?"

"Yeah, because, you know... I, uh... I already said you'd be at 701 South with us this Friday. You're kind of committed."

"COMMITTED! You should be committed! Damn it, Spike!"

He had backed her into a corner. Now what was she going to do?

"I even comped a hotel room for you," he told her.

He was hoping he could get the Adam"s Mark to honor their trade. If not, he'd be paying for the room himself just to have her there.

"And you can do all of your stations from here. I've made arrangements with Rupert," he let her know.

He hoped he could reach Giles before she did. He"d have to make some arrangements for her to do all of her reports from his studio.

"Oh, Spike," she sighed.

He was wearing her down and he knew it.

"Come on, Buffy," he smiled into the phone. "I'll even buy you dinner."

"Oh, well, there's the clincher,then. You buy me dinner and it's a done deal," she said sarcastically.

"As I recall, we both had a good time at dinner."

"We did," she agreed. "I did."

"Then be like Nike, Love," he urged her. "Just do it."

She had to giggle at his analogy. He really was adorable when he tried. Hell, he was adorable when he wasn't trying, too.

"Okay," she conceded. "I'll come. I'll come. I'll drive up after my morning shift on Friday. I"ll just ask Giles for the rest of the day off. I could use it. And I'll go to your little club and play your little game. But I want filet mignon this time, Bub."

"Your wish is my command," he assured her, giddy at her acceptance.

What have I just done, she thought as she placed the phone back in the cradle. She could feel female eyes burning her skin. She thought there could be some envy coming from Andrew, too.

"Not that I was listening to your conversation," Cordelia began. "But did you just make a date with Spike?"

Buffy felt her cheeks coloring at Cordelia's question.

"Uh, not so much a date," she stammered. "He wants me to make an appearance at a live broadcast on Friday night. Some nightclub. And he promised me dinner if I said yes. So, you know, I like food. And dinner... you know, the most important meal of the day."

"That would be breakfast," Faith called from over her desk.

"Dinner is very important, too," Jenny chimed in. "Going to bed on an empty belly can keep you up all night."

"Nobody said anything about going to bed, Latino and Loud," Faith slung at Jenny, using a little nickname she'd made up from one of Jenny's outcues, 'Latino and Proud.' "But if one were to go to bed after a long night of partying, where, exactly, would that be, hmmm?"

Buffy"s jaw dropped at the insinuation.

"Now this is getting juicy!" Jenny beamed, standing up and clapping her hands together like a child. "Is there a thing with you and Spike?"

"There is no thing!" she said defensively. "What the Hell is this thing of which you speak?"

"Well, not that I was eavesdropping or anything," Cordelia butted in. "But I thought I might have heard something about a previous dinner. As in you've already been to dinner with Spike."

"I thought I heard that, too," Andrew chimed in. "And let me just be the first to say..." Andrew gave her a double thumbs-up and mouthed "good job."

Buffy hung her head and stifled a disbelieving giggle. It wasn't a date. It so wasn't a date.

Holy and shit... it was a date.

"Maybe she said that dinner was the most important meal of the day when she really meant breakfast," Jenny pointed out with a grin. "Chiquita's subconscience talking."

Buffy crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it over her desk at Jenny.

"No," she groused. "And...no. It's just an appearance. And dinner. Just dinner. Between co-workers. Just like if I went to dinner with Andrew."

"So not my type, Buffy," he said with a grimace. "Sorry."

"You know what I mean," she said shooting him a dirty look.


	11. Chapter 11

"You know what I mean," she said shooting him a dirty look. "It's just dinner. Like if I went with Giles."

"Whatever you need to say to get you through the night," Faith mumbled.

"Children!"

Thank God for the voice of reason.

"If Buffy wants to fill us in on her date, she can do so after the fact," Ethan winked.

Buffy's jaw came unhinged as she stared saucer-eyed at Ethan. He winked when he saw her staring and then cleared his throat.

"Back to traffic," he said sternly, although his eyes still sparkled.

Buffy settled into the towel-covered sand. The warmth of sun warmed her body from head to toe. She had left for Los Angeles as soon as her shift was over. By 11:30, she was laying blissfully on a beautiful beach enjoying the sound of the gulls and surf while sea salt and coconut oil tickled her nose.

She had just dozed off when her cell phone rang.

"Buffy Summers," she answered groggily.

"Has anyone ever told you how sexy you sound when you're covered in oil and little else, Pet?" the deep male voice at the other end wanted to know.

"How would you know what I'm covered in, Bleach Boy?" she smiled in spite of her fear that he was nearby.

"I've got the bird's eye view of your perfect little ass from my perch at Al's Crab Shack."

Buffy bit her lip. He was behind her. She wasn't sure exactly where, but he was watching her.

She remembered telling him her plans the night before when he'd surprised her with a call on her cell phone.

"Are you naked?" he'd asked teasingly.

"Uh, actually, quite," had been her honest response.

She"d been chin-deep in Calgon when he'd called.

"Really?" she could hear his smile in his voice.

"I'm taking a bath," she"d replied.

"Mmmm... nice. Warm, slippery, naked Buffy. That's a picture that I don't mind haunting me for the rest of the night," he"d told her, his voice dropping down to a bone-melting rumble.

"Wh-why did you call?" she'd stammered.

"Wanted to make sure we were still on for tomorrow night," he'd let her know. "Make sure you hadn't found a way to weasel your way out of it."

"Me? Weasel? I think not, Bub," she'd replied putting on an air of defensiveness.

"Then when will I see you?" he'd wanted to know.

"I"m going to hit the beach right after work."

"Where?" he'd immediately asked.

"Up by First," she'd responded. "I talked to Dawn this morning before you were in the studio and she told me her favorite place to go on the beach."

He'd tucked that little morsel of information away.

"And then?"

"Um...I'd only gotten as far as the beach. After that, I really wasn't sure."

"You can check in at the Adam's Mark at three," he'd told her, grateful that he'd been able to comp the room for two nights. "You've got it until Sunday morning."

"That's very generous, Spike," she"d told him. "I don't know that I"ll stay until Sunday, but just the same... thank you."

The sun reflected brightly off of the sugary sand. Her sunglasses were barely a shield for its intense blaze. She sat up and looked around, trying to suss out just where he was.

"Look behind you, Sunshine," he told her. "Up here."

Her eyes went to the expansive deck overlooking the beach. Al's Crab Shack. She saw him wave from the distance.

"Throw on those shorts you've got next to your bag and come have lunch with me."

He didn't wait for her response. He simply snapped his phone shut and waited for her to arrive.

She stood and dusted the sand off of the side of her thigh where it clung to the suntan oil. She shook out her towel and stuffed it into her bag and then slipped into the denim cutoffs that were laying beside it. She stepped into her sandals and silently squealed as her feet hit the hot rubber. She hadn't expected them to get so hot so quickly. She fished through the bag for some lipgloss and a brush. In a few swift strokes, her hair was brushed, twisted and clamped into place with a clip and her lips were glossed to a juicy peach shine.

She threw the bag over her shoulder and headed up to the sandy slope to Al's Crab Shack. The steps to the deck were steep and weathered. She took them two at a time, telling herself it was to ascend them quickly. She didn't want to admit the possibility that it could be because she was just as anxious to see Spike as he was to see her.

He was sitting at a little umbrella-covered table with a margarita in his hand. She sat her bag on the floor and took the seat across from him. Her eyes were shielded by her sunglasses and for that she was glad. She didn't say a word as her eyes roamed lazily over him. He was adorable in a pair of camouflage cargo pants that had been cut off just above the knee. He wore a faded moss-colored tank top that read: Sin City Poker.

A bikini-clad waitress arrived with a margarita glass filled with something pink and icy.

"Pink lemonade margarita," he told her. "Figured you'd like that after working up such a sweat."

She took the glass and tentatively sipped it. Delicious!

"It's very good," she admitted before taking another sip.

She tried to keep her mind off of the fact that all she was wearing was a tiny black bikini top and a pair of dangerously short cut-offs. That was hard to do when his eyes were shamelessly raking over her svelte figure.

"You're squirming," he pointed out.

"You're staring," was her quick response.

"Take off the sunglasses, Love," he instructed her.

She took them off without question, mesmerized by the gently commanding tone of his voice.

"We're going to have lunch and then I'm going to show you to your hotel," he told her. "You're going to call me when you're naked and up to your chin in bubbles just to give me my cheap thrill for the day."

Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened to protest, but nothing came out.

"Then, you're going to put on something pretty that shows a lot of skin and I"m going to come pick you up for dinner," he continued. "We're going to eat too much steak and drink too much wine, and then we're going to walk down to 701 South to make an appearance. At some point, there's a very good chance that my tongue will find its way into your mouth. I'm not sure when or where, but I'm willing to bet that it won"t take me long."

Just when she was sure her eyes couldn't get any wider, they did. He made no apologies for what he said. He simply smiled, handed her a menu and then began studying his own.

"The conch fritters are very good here, by the way," he offered, acting as if he hadn't just told her that he was going to kiss her senseless at some point during the day.

She swallowed hard and nodded, letting her eyes rest on the menu.


	12. Chapter 12

She swallowed hard and nodded, letting her eyes rest on the menu. Who could think about food when the heat of Spike's gaze was still burning her body?

She ended up ordering some sort of crab salad that she was sure she wouldn't finish. Her stomach was doing somersaults as Spike continued talking to her about the beach, the club they'd be going to later that evening and the town in general.

"You okay, Sunshine?" he asked, becoming concerned when he noticed she'd barely made a dent in her salad.

"Yeah," she smiled weakly. "I'm good. Just listening."

Something about his voice enthralled her. It was deep. Certainly masculine. It was friendly and upbeat sometimes; the way he sounded on the radio. And at others, it was soft and intimate. The accent didn't hurt, either. It breathed over her in a silky caress that made her lips tingle.

"I'm really glad you came," he said, his voice dipping down to that intimate octave. "And... I'm sorry I coerced you. I was afraid you wouldn't have come if I had just asked."

"I might not have," she admitted. "But I'm glad that I did, all the same."

His hand slipped over hers and squeezed it gently. He stared down at her bare ring finger as his thumb swept over the back of her hand.

She felt her cheeks color when she guessed what he was thinking.

"I... I just thought that..."

"No need for explanations, Buffy," he assured her. "I don't care if it condemns me to Hell... but I don't give a damn whether you're wearing another man's ring or not. All I care about is that you're here and you're with me."

He pulled her hand to his lips and turned it over, pressing a chaste kiss to her palm. Everything inside of her went liquid as her eyes rolled closed.

"Tell me..." she tried, forcing her mouth and brain to connect against their will. "Tell me where we're going for dinner."

He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"You're having a hard enough time getting through lunch," he teased her.

She looked down at her plate and smiled.

"It must be the sun... and the heat," she fibbed.

Sure, it was the sun and the heat. It was the way the sunlight reflected off of his hair and the way his voice made her temperature rise of its own volition. It had a certain amount to do with the proclamation he'd made about kissing her and a little to do with the way he was brushing her hand with the tips of his fingers.

"Do you, uh," she cleared her throat and started over. "Do you treat all of your traffic anchors this way?"

His face became very serious even as humor still danced in his deep blue eyes.

"Which do you want?" he asked. "A lie or the truth."

When she didn't respond, he leaned in closer to her. The sweet coconut oil didn't cover the lush honeysuckle that enveloped her. It was a scent that he hadn't forgotten since the last time they were together.

His eyes impaled hers and she shivered involuntarily. She could feel his breath as he studied her intently.

"The truth is, you already know the answer to that question," he informed her. "You knew it was rhetorical even as you asked it."

She was still watching him, waiting for him to make his move.

"Close your eyes, Buffy," he told her.

He loved the look of confusion on her face. Her brow furrowed as her lip came out in a pout.

"Trust, Love," he implored her. "You've got to have trust."

Trust hadn't ever exactly been at the top of her agenda. She waiting another moment, trying to find the duplicity in his eyes, before she consented.

She closed her eyes and was surprised to see the honest blue of his still burnt into her memory. She felt his hand gently ghost over her cheek.

"Just relax, Kitten," he said softly. "Be that girl who shoots me dirty little messages every day. Let down your guard and let me in."

She felt his nose skim over hers as his lips touched hers. She could feel her heart kick into high gear as she fought to keep her eyes closed.

"If we were sending each other little messages, probably I'd say something like..."

He took a very slow, deliberate breath in through his teeth and moved his other hand to her thigh. It was warm and smooth under his palm. He could still feel the silky slip of her suntan oil.

"I've missed you," he whispered. "Especially when I'm naked."

"I've never been around you when you were naked," she contradicted as the smile pulled at her mouth. "How can you miss what you've never had?"

His mouth was near her ear. She felt his tongue flicker across the tender lobe and she was pretty certain that she moaned.

"That's not entirely true, Love," he continued, teasing her earlobe with his breath and his tongue. "We've spent a lot of time together in my mind. And most of it... naked."

"No wonder my parts would just start tingling out of the blue," she said shakily, playing along.

"Uh-huh. How does that make you feel?" he wanted to know.

"Well... tingly. Duh. Uh, in a very warm kind of make me want to take my clothes off way," she quickly amended.

"That's what I was going for."

His mouth had found its way down to her jaw and he was making a production of nipping at the sensitive skin there.

"You know," she continued, trying to ignore the way he was kissing and nuzzling her.

It was nearly impossible. Between his mouth and his hands, one playing with the soft hairs at the nape of her neck, the other riding dangerously high on her leg, she was quickly becoming unglued.

"You really need to stop thinking dirty thoughts while I'm at the grocery store. People are starting to stare."

He bit back a chuckle and continued kissing her until his lips were once again on hers. He brushed his lips over hers, teasing her until she let out a soft sigh. He pulled back to look at her face. He wanted to take in the full effect. Her eyes were still closed, but they weren't squeezed tight. She was beginning to relax. He wasn't sure if her cheeks were pink from the sun or from his touch and suggestive words. He was close enough to see that she wore no makeup. She was simply natural. Beautiful.

She wasn't the kind of girl he normally fell for. She wasn't polished and gelled and styled and glossed. And he loved it. He wouldn't want her any other way.

"Then you should probably stop molesting the produce," he suggested.

She grinned, a brilliant, open-mouthed grin full of laughter. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"I can't help it, Bleach Boy," she said huskily. "The cucumbers... they just... they just do something to me. And the zucchini? Don't even get me started."

He'd promised himself he'd wait until dinner to kiss her. He swore he'd give her time, but the way she played along with him just pushed him over the edge. His lips found hers and with little coaxing, his tongue had slipped inside of her mouth. She tasted just as sweet as she had the last time he kissed her. She kissed him back just as fervently, her tongue dueling with his, until she had to breathe.

When she pulled away, her eyes went wide and her cheeks a shade of pink the sun had little to do with. She couldn't believe she had been so bold or so open. She'd wanted him to kiss her. And she'd wanted to kiss him back.

"Why don't you follow me over to your hotel," he told her, watching her face curiously. "And you can get settled in. Maybe take that bubble bath and pretend I'm the sponge. Catch a little nap. And then I'll be by around 6 to pick you up."

She nodded and reached for her bag. He was already pulling bills from his wallet when she looked up. He left a couple of twenties on the table and stood up, offering her his hand.

The Adam's Mark wasn't too far from Joe's. It was a shell colored building with a huge circular drive facing the roadway. She watched as Spike pulled around the circle and stopped at the valet desk. He said something to the attendant, handed him a couple of bills and walked over to her car.

She watched him, wondering if he was going to invite himself up. Then she felt the panic rise in her throat as she wondered if she'd be able to tell him no.

"Alright, Love," he told her, squatting down beside her door. "I took care of your valet."

The top was down and the sun was making her glow. He couldn't stop himself from touching her one more time. He leaned in a kissed her quickly before standing again.

"Be ready at 6," he told her. "And I meant what I said about calling me from the tub. I'll be waiting."


	13. Chapter 13

The Adam's Mark wasn't too far from Joe's. It was a shell colored building with a huge circular drive facing the roadway. She watched as Spike pulled around the circle and stopped at the valet desk. He said something to the attendant, handed him a couple of bills and walked over to her car.

She watched him, wondering if he was going to invite himself up. Then she felt the panic rise in her throat as she wondered if she'd be able to tell him no.

"Alright, Sunshine," he told her, squatting down beside her door. "I took care of your valet."

The top was down and the sun was making her glow. He couldn't stop himself from touching her one more time. He leaned in a kissed her quickly before standing again.

"Be ready at 6," he told her. "And I meant what I said about calling me from the tub. I'll be waiting."

He had told her he'd procured a room for her. He failed to mention was that he'd booked her a small jacuzzi suite. She kicked off her sandals and let out a soft moan when her feet hit the thick, soft cream-colored carpet. The room was ocean front with a private balcony.

Buffy opened the French doors leading to the balcony and walked out to stare at the rolling sea. Nothing like ocean air and sunshine to erase the real world.

She went back into the room and ran her hand along the edge of the jacuzzi. There was a bottle of bath bubbles and a stack of soft, white wash cloths on the back ledge. She turned on the water, squirted in a generous amount of honey-almond bath bubbles and began filling the deep tub. While the water ran, she unceremoniously stripped off her clothes and re-clipped her drooping hair. She looked over at her cell phone and smiling devilishly, brought it with her when she stepped into the tub. She sat it on the edge while she shut off the water and turned on the jets.

The phone was taunting her from its perch. Did he really expect her to call him from the tub? She grabbed the phone and decided that there was only one way to find out. She pulled up Spike's number and hit send.

"What are the chances that you're actually naked right now?" he answered, in lieu of a usual greeting when he read his caller I.D.

"Damn good," she replied, slipping further into the steamy bubbles. "Excellent, some might say."

"Why is it we do this so much better like this?"

"Like what?" she murmered, letting the heat completely relax her.

"With some sort of electronic device between us," he teased.

"Oh, I left all of my electronic devices at home, darlin'," she quipped, giving herself a mental head-slap as the words slithered out of her traitorous mouth.

Spike felt the heat rising between his thighs. What he wouldn't give to be in that tub with her now.

"Right. Who needs them when you've got a real, live boy ready to do your bidding any time, day or night," he offered, realizing just how much he meant it.

He'd do just about anything for her... and to her.

"That's always good to know," she replied huskily.

The silence at the other end stunned her. She was sure he'd have something x-rated to say.

"Spike?" she whispered, suddenly very self conscious.

"Yeah, Love," he whispered back.

"Didn't know if you were still there," she told him.

"Yeah," he told her. "Not going anywhere. Was just trying to get a clear picture in my head of what you look like right now. Bet you've got your hair all piled up on top of your head, yeah?"

"Yes," she answered so softly, she wasn't sure he heard it.

"And your cheeks are all pink and dewy from the steam," he continued, not really needing her to confirm or deny. The bubbles probably just cover you. If you moved up even a fraction of an inch..."

"Spike... I'll... I'll see you tonight."

She hung up the phone quickly, incredibly flustered. The rumble of his voice had gone due South along with her hand. She frowned and pulled it out from between her thighs. She didn't even remember putting it there. If she didn't watch it, she'd be doing more than just kissing Spike tonight.

To Be Continued


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